


Will That Be All?

by DovaBunny



Series: FicTober Ficlets [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, It is now, M/M, Waxing, does that need to be a tag?, fictober18, zevalistair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 14:43:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16199657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DovaBunny/pseuds/DovaBunny
Summary: Fictober Prompt: 'Will that be all'DA Inktober prompt: DAO RomanceThe day started out great, a cute elf smiled at him, he raced after cute elf to return his jacket he had left behind on purpose to lure Alistair, he finally found him... but fast forward to him with his face mushed into a salon table, and his ass in the air (and not the fun version of this position) with his freshly-waxed buthole finally being the conversation starter he needed.





	Will That Be All?

“Will that be all?”

“Uhhh….”

In that moment Alistair questioned every choice he had ever made in his sad, miserable life. He saw every mistake, every disaster, every miscalculation, every bad decision.

…and decided not to listen to any of it.

“…my ass is kinda hairy?”

Zevran turned his head away for a moment, seemingly to get more wax strips, although the shake of his shoulders rather suggested he was trying not to laugh at his face.

“Of course, my friend,” the waxing specialist at ‘Darkspawn Drag Queen’, an apparent beauty salon with a sense of humour. Or so he hopes, as their slogan is: ‘Maybe She’s Born with It - Maybe It’s the Blight’. “I myself have nothing against hairy men, but if is what you desire, I shall remove any and every hair from your beautiful person.”

Alistair blushed from his fresh perfectly waxed and shaped brow to his now hairless toes. And wasn’t that just the problem.

See, when a gorgeous man with caramel tan skin, long blond locks perfectly braided at the sides, eyes like molten honey, and lips like….like…. What are nice things lips can be like? Alistair is not sure, but it’s like that. Anyway - the elf is perfect. In every possible way. And when a beautiful being like that smiles and winks at you, then (he was like 72% sure) purposefully leaves his jacket when exiting the bistro - you, of course, follow him to return it to him like the gentleman you are! Makerdammit, he didn’t sit through all those hours of maker forsaken etiquette classes Teagan made him take for nothing.

He tried to call after the elf, but always seemed to miss him by just a step, seeing his boots and hair disappear around a corner until they disappeared into a shop. Alistair sighed in relief, finally he would have the elf cornered (oh that sounds like a bad thing, doesn’t it? He doesn’t mean it in a bad way!) so he could give him his jacket.

Only… when he walked into the shop, which turned out to be a beauty salon of some kind, Zevran had his jacket in his hand, his uniform for the salon had been hidden underneath, staring at the heaving Ferelden doofus standing in the door.

“Do you have an appointment?” the elf grinned at him, and ohhhh Maker that Antivan accent was like warm custard.

“We don’t serve shems,” a bored and bitter voice sounded, and it was only then that Alistair noticed the other elf standing next to him. Short black hair pulled back into an angry looking ponytail, he had pale skin but no face tattoos (the ones the Dalish had, what were they called? Vassa-something. Vassa-lynne?). “Go away.”

“Easy now, Caro. This is what we talked about, no? You need to accept all kinds of patrons,” the elf he inadvertently stalked for no reason said to the angry one. “Excuse my friend here, he has had some…unfortunate dealings with humans. My name is Zevran, I do waxing here at the salon. My angry friend here is the boss. We also have Sten who does massages, Leliana who does facials, and Morrigan who does nails. Now, who are you here to see?”

“Uh… you?” Alistair said, trying to sound confident. Holy maker shits he just stole some poor guy’s jacket and ran out of the bistro only to follow this poor unsuspecting elf to his place of work. Least he could do is try to make up for it…or would that make things worse?

One of Zevran’s perfectly arched eyebrows lifted. “I wasn’t aware I had an appointment, but lucky for you I do have a spot available right now. Do come on it.”

Aaaaand that brings us to where we are right now. Alistair, almost completely hairless from the brow down, lying face down, knees up, getting his asshole waxed.

Jap.

Can’t say its the worst date he’s ever had. That prize goes to that maker awful date with Anora where they went to - what he had honestly thought was a gaming and game art convention, but - what turned out to be a furry convention.

All of this, just to douse his shame for stealing some poor guy’s jacket and his helpless need to talk to this beautiful elven specimen. Things his cheese-addled brain can’t think of alternatives for than, obviously, waxing his entire body.

“You know, dear Alistair,” Zevran said as he ripped off (what Alistair hoped was) the last strip of hot wax along his buthole. “I shall not stand in your way of becoming the first entirely hairless Ferelden man, if that is what you wish. Although I might add, your hairless, smooth ass is quite immaculate. But I feel I must ask - why are you doing this? Is this some fetish? I shall not kinkshame you, scout’s honour.”

Alistair relaxed his jaw where it had been clenched like a Mabari’s grip on a bandit’s meaty leg on the towel his face was resting on, all to keep from screaming like a little girl. “I, I uhm… I just…” Alistair swallowed thickly. All the blood that should be in his brain was occupied it seemed. “…have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?”

Zevran laughed, and oh, that sound almost made all the pain worth it. Almost. “Can’t say I have, my friend. Why? Was that your first experience having parts of your body ripped off?”

“Uh, no,” Alistair laughed a little in embarrassment. “What I’m trying to say is…” What was he trying to say?”

“Hmm,” Zevran interjected as he applied a soothing ointment to the terribly harassed (hah! hair-ass-ed) and sensitive skin around his buthole. “You wish to know what I think?”

Alistair made a strangled noise of agreement at the back of his throat as the excess ointment that dripped to the back of his balls were wiped off.

“I think,” Zevran said calmly, “that a certain handsome, albeit giant and hairy, man saw little ol’ me enter the shop, not seeing the name outside till it was too late. Said handsome, hairy giant felt discomforted by his miscalculation, and agreed to be waxed without exactly meaning too. Does this sound correct?”

Alistair murmured a ‘uh-huh’ into his folded arms, even as Zevran guided his hips back down and covered him with a warm, fluffy towel.

“Only thing I can’t figure out, sadly, is the ‘why’ of it all. You may sit up, but you may be tender.”

Alistair indeed gave a little-muted yelp when he sat up, keeping the towel over his manly bits. Although, why he wasn’t sure. The man had waxed his feet, legs, buthole, back, crotch and balls, chest, underarms, and brows. He probably knew Alistair’s body than he did himself.

“I guess,” Alistair huffed, his head low. “I just wanted to, I don’t know, talk to you? And the more you talked, the more I wanted you to talk. You’re so smart, and funny, and you’ve seen so many places, and I … Now that I say it out loud, I realise how stupid I sound. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

He looked up, expecting to see annoyance, amusement, or even pity, but what he saw was an easy smile and curious eyes. “I had expected such, but I thought it might be presumptuous of me to suggest. But now that it has been said, may I suggest the next time you wish to spend time listening to me, we do so at a restaurant over dinner? Or do you prefer we do so over your hairless, gleaming body that would put Adonis to shame?”

“Are you… asking me out?” Alistair perked up, his eyes wide and back straight.

“Hmm, perhaps.” Zevran smirked and pulled a card out of his pocket, scribbling something on it before handing it to Alistair. “I tell you what, next time you want to see me, call and make an appointment.”

With that, Zevran bowed and left the room for him to get dressed. He looked down at the card.

 

Zevran Arainai

The Darkspawn Drag Queen

‘Maybe She’s Born with It ~ Maybe it’s the Blight’

~~555 - 8008 - 6969~~

_084 384 5555_

_Call me xxx_


End file.
